Tuesday, April 21, 2015

I didn’t want Apple Blossom to get soaked
again, so I let her use one of my rain shells. It was much too big for her to
wear, so I had to wrap it around her like a blanket. She didn’t protest, and in
fact she seemed to like being wrapped up so snugly in the warm jacket. “I wish
we had clothes as warm as this,” she said, snuggling against it. “Even our
winter pelts aren’t quite so warm.”

I had to carry her, and when I picked her up
she wrapped her arms around my shoulder and pressed her head against me. It was
a wonderful feeling to be so trusted and loved. “Will we see anymore humans?”
she asked a little nervously.

“I can’t promise that we won’t,” I said
truthfully, “but I can promise that they won’t hurt you.”

But we didn’t see anybody as we made
our way to the magnolia archway. As I waded through the mud that packed against
my boots, I realized that no one in their right mind would be out here. Even the Grand Elder Guardian had taken shelter
from the pouring rain, but I could see the other guardians watching us from
under leaves and thick patches of brush. As we made our way through to the Greenwood, the trees shut out the rain enough for me
to set Apple Blossom down. “All right?” I asked as I wiped her face with my
slicker sleeve. She nodded.

Someone was waiting for us on the
other side of the bridge. My heart skipped a beat—I was terrified that it would
turn out to be one of the palace servants, or a courtier, or Apple Blossom’s
nursemaid (she did still have one, even at ten), or even the queen herself. It
was hard to see through the rain, but when we got a little closer I saw that it
was only Raindrop.

“Hey there,” I said, giving her a
little wave. “What are you doing out here in this nasty weather?”

“I could ask you the same thing,”
said Raindrop. “You never come around when it rains. And Apple Blossom, where
have you been? Everybody’s been looking for you!” Oh great!

“I was…” Apple Blossom began, but I
interrupted her; “She found her way to my house…you know, in the human world.
She wanted to see where I go when it rains, and she wanted to see what it was
like. I found her at my door earlier this afternoon. We waited out the rain for
a while, and then I decided that I didn’t want her going home by herself, and I
wanted to make sure that everyone would know where she really was. So here I
am.” By the end of my explanation, Raindrop looked as if she had seen a ghost. For
a few moments, her mouth formed a perfect O shape until she was able to stammer
out a response.

“You…you were in the…the human
world, Apple Blossom?”

Apple Blossom nodded. “Yes, I was.”

“Are you sure that’s the truth?”
Raindrop asked. I could tell that she really didn’t want it to be. But Apple
Blossom said, “It is the truth. I was going to make up a lie, but…” She looked
at me. “I couldn’t ask Aidyn to lie, too.”

For a few moments, poor Raindrop had
been struck dumb. She kept looking up at the sky, shaking her head, as if she
just could not—or would not—believe what
she heard even after being told it was the truth. Finally, she said, “Did…did
you run into other humans?”

“We didn’t run into any,” Apple
Blossom said truthfully. “We saw one, only one. But he didn’t approach us. I
don’t even think that he saw us.”

“But suppose he did?” cried
Raindrop, her eyes wide.

“He didn’t,” I assured her. “I am
one hundred percent sure of that.”

Raindrop was silent again for a
moment. Then she said grimly, “Apple Blossom, you know that you’re going to be
in trouble.”

“I know,” Apple Blossom said with a
sigh. I squeezed her hand. The two of us followed behind Raindrop as she
scampered into the village, shouting, “Apple Blossom is back! She’s here, and
she’s all right!” The next thing I knew, we were swarmed. There were officials
from the palace dressed in gold trimmed green cloaks. There were armored
soldiers other than the green-clad civil soldiers, carrying long swords at
their sides. There were palace courtiers and servants. There were ordinary
villagers—men, women, and children. This, I knew, was only a fraction of the
search effort. What amounted to the entire Greenwood must have been out there looking for her for
who knows how long! And now a woman whose silks and velvets indicated a palace
attendant was scooping her up and kissing her forehead. She kissed her about
five times before wrapping her arms around her and rocking her gently, the way
that a human might do with a lost child who had just been found. “Are you all
right, dear?” the tearful woman asked.

“I’m fine, Beryl,” Apple Blossom
said. “Aidyn found me.”

“Aidyn the human?” the woman asked, slowly turning to look at me. My god, if
looks could kill! “Yes,” clarified Apple Blossom. “She took me into her house
and kept me safe and took care of me.”

“There’s more to it than that,” I
told Beryl. “Where are her parents?”

Beryl’s response was to continue to
stare daggers at me before carrying Apple Blossom off into the increasing
swarm. Raindrop followed, and I was close behind. The armored soldiers pushed
ahead, calling, “The princess has been found! She is found, and she is safe!”
The cloaked officials trailed behind them.

“Why did Mother and Father send out
all of these people?” Apple Blossom asked Beryl. “They know I go out when it
rains sometimes.”

“They also know that they can always
locate you when you do,” Beryl said sternly. “Only this time, things seemed to
go a little bit differently, didn’t they?”

The king and queen arrived before
Apple Blossom could say anything further. “Oh, Apple Blossom!” her mother
cried, prying her out of Beryl’s arms and wrapping her own arms around her. She
dropped a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, and Apple Blossom kissed both of her
cheeks and said, “I’m all right, Mother. Really, I am.” Then she was passed to
her father, who responded with more hugs and kisses before his face turned very
serious.

“Where did you go, Apple Blossom?”
the king asked very sternly. “Don’t tell me you were here in the Greenwood, for I know that you were not. Remember that
I can always tell when you are lying to me.” Tall for a Jadeite, the man
surpassed my height and conducted himself in a very imposing manner. I wanted
to say something, but there seemed no appropriate time. Apple Blossom looked at
the ground and said, “I was in the human world, Father.”

“The
human world!” In an instant, the king turned his firey blue eyes on me. I
wanted to shrink. “You brought her there!” he hollered.

Now the king turned those firey eyes
on his daughter. “Why would you do such a
thing?!” he roared, but she didn’t recoil or even look away. She looked
right into that blue fire and said, “I just wanted to see what it was like.”

The king pressed his fingers to his
temple in exasperation. Then he unleashed a barrage of nasty-sounding words in
a language that I could not understand, though I figured that it must have been
the tree elf language. I gasped, but whatever he was saying must not have been
too bad, as Apple Blossom was not crying and the others were not expressing any
sort of shock or disgust. Even Raindrop only hung her head as if she was
familiar with this sort of display and felt ashamed. Just a parental lecture, I
supposed.

And just like a typical child, Apple
Blossom interrupted this lecture. To each of her father’s laments, she had a
willful response in the same language. Back and forth, the two of them argued,
until Apple Blossom shouted in clear, plain English, “Because they fascinate me, Father!”

Everyone was silent. The king took a
step back and shook his head as if he needed to clear it to believe what he had
heard. The queen’s eyes were wide, her mouth forming a small O shape. The crowd
was struck dumb. My mind was working, wondering what on Earth she could have
possibly meant by that. Who fascinated
her? Then I realized: humans! Humans fascinated her. They did not frighten her
the way that they frightened the others, they fascinated her. That’s why she wanted to see our world. That’s why
she wanted to make sense of the books and find a connection. That’s why, except
for when she saw my neighbor, she never showed any real fear of humans. On that
very first day, she had told me that she had always wanted to meet a human, to
play with a human, to befriend a human. She wanted a human at her birthday
party, to entertain and to introduce to her friends and family. She had
approached me that day without fear, and showed me off as if I was a thing to
marvel at rather than to fear. She never thought that I was a monster. She
never thought that humans were monsters, and all of the kindness that I had
shown her and her friends only affirmed her viewpoint.

The king spoke more softly now, and
whatever he was saying sounded like a question. Apple Blossom answered with,
“I’d like for us to speak in c…I mean English,
Father. I want Aidyn to be able to hear.” The wagging tongues of the
surrounding crowd became much more active. The king looked at me and then back
at his daughter before nodding. I was astounded by how much power the little
girl held over this king. Since Apple Blossom’s birthday, I had only ever seen
the king in passing. But from what Apple Blossom had told me about him, his
love for her came before all else, and he placed her on the pedestal of a mini
goddess. I could see that now. The man loved his daughter so much that he gave
her the power to talk him down.

“They do fascinate me, Father,”
Apple Blossom went on. “They are so different from us, yet so much like us.
They eat different foods, live in different homes, have lots of strange tools
and devices, and have no ability to channel the jade essences. And yet they
speak the same, have the same feelings, can do so many of the same things, and
they even almost look the same. We are not so different. Somehow, I always knew
that. I always doubted that all humans were the monsters I was taught they
were. When I met Aidyn, I learned that I had been right! Now, I am more
fascinated by humans than I have ever been!”

A young lady in the crowd spoke up.
“Princess, don’t you realize that she could be trying to trap you? She’s
fostering that fascination, doing whatever she can to entice you, filling your
mind with interest in her and her world…and then she’ll be able to lure you in!
She’ll have you right where she wants you!”

“She wouldn’t do that!” Raindrop
cried.

“I’d never even dream of it!” I chimed in.

“How dare you say such things about
Aidyn!” shouted Apple Blossom.

“It’s dangerous to trust her!”
insisted a man in the crowd.

“She is my friend!” retorted Apple
Blossom.

“Mine too!” Raindrop said.

“A human could never be the friend
of a Jadeite!” an older woman cried.

Finally, the queen called the crowd
to silence. She clapped her hands together loudly until each and every pair of
eyes was on her, and the soldiers commanded the attention of the few who
weren’t so willing to give it. Apple Blossom scurried over to me and wrapped
her arms around my waist. I laid my hand on top of her head.

“This situation is certainly far
from the ordinary,” the queen began, “and I understand your concerns, as any
abnormal series of events will incite concern. However, we have no reason to
believe that Aidyn is untrustworthy. My daughter has always shown good
judgement when it comes to choosing friends, and from what I have observed,
this is no exception. Aidyn is adored by my daughter and well received by her
friends and their families. She looks after Apple Blossom and keeps her safe as
well as entertaining her, and she has never indicated even once that she might
lead her astray.” She turned to me then and nodded. “Aidyn, I thank you for
bringing our daughter—our princess—safely home, and I apologize for the impulsive
accusations of my husband and certain citizens of the Greenwood. Human or otherwise, you are our daughter’s
companion, and you have given us reason to trust you. As such, we shall always
accept you with open arms.”

I was so stunned. I didn’t know what
to say. My arm was around Apple Blossom, who gasped and tugged at my shirt
excitedly upon hearing her mother’s words. I simply nodded and said, “Your
majesty, I…I thank you.” My voice had returned to me. “Yes, thank you. Thank
you for your acceptance, for your hospitality, and above all…for your trust.” My
heart fluttered so much that I was sure it was going to soar straight up into
the sky. Apple Blossom had her arms around me, and in a sudden surge of emotion
I scooped her up off of her feet and embraced her. I snuggled against her as
she wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

My wings do not pierce the
darkness, but become a part of it. My entire body becomes one with the
increasing blackness as I make my way through the night. I am moved by the
peace, the solitude, and the hint of beautiful sadness that only the dark can
bring. The blackness deepens and I know that the night is ideal; it’s the
perfect shade of black, so silent, so secretive…and so treacherous. It’s the
kind of deep black night in which weary travelers are led astray, those who
wander are lost, and fools are swallowed up by the darkness. It’s the kind of
night that gives way to thoughts of fear, of hopelessness, of unseen hobgoblins
lurking in the shadows…and of tragedy.

I
find my perch on a branch completely enveloped by the dark. To the ordinary
observer, I am nothing more than a spot of black paint in the image of the
night. Such an ordinary observer could not know that I am watching, waiting,
and anticipating the next unlikely visitor that the darkness will send to me.
My feathers are ruffled by the winds of the early spring night and the chill
strikes me so deep in my bones. The atmosphere is so perfect that it brings a
tear to my eye.

And
then he comes to me, a spry-looking young man, his hands jammed into his
pockets and his hair tousled by the wind. He tries to hide the fear in his
eyes, as young men are apt to do. But there is nobody to hide from except for
me, and it’s no use trying to hide fear from me. The young men are the most amusing,
as they never realize that their fear is as plain as the light of the moon
until you play with them a bit, and then they understand that they are not as
tough and collected as they would like to be. I emerge from the darkness and
perch on an old log just an arm’s length away from this young man. I call out
to him.

He
glances at me for only a moment, but in that moment, I can see the terror. He’d
like to think that I am only a bird, but I am a raven. Ravens are the
harbingers of death and despair, the night birds that lead the lost to their
doom. But he is not ready to reveal his fear. He passes me by and walks off
into the night, and I follow him. I perch on a low-hanging branch and call out
to him again.

He
will not look at me. He is a fool, with his head held high. He will not look at
me until I abandon this form that melts into the darkness a little too well. First
I shed my birdy talons, then the thick black feathers on my chest. I cast aside
my wings and my beak, and a plait of long black hair forms from the feathers on
my head. In a raven’s place now stands a woman, with skin as pale as the light
of the moon.

“Young
man!”

He
starts, and then he turns to look at me. His eyes are wide enough to pierce the
night, and so hopelessly confused that I cannot help but laugh. “Oh, what an
amusing character you are!” I say, before tightly wrapping my arm around the
young man’s shoulder. “I do believe that I am going to have my share of fun
with you!”

My,
does the little imp ever struggle and fuss! The fool that he is wants to run
off into the night. But I know the night and its ways much better than he ever
could. “Stop your fussing!” I order him, and pull back on his arm when he
attempts to tear away from me. “My company is preferable to the cruelty of the
night! Run away, and the darkness will surely consume you!”

“I
don’t care!” he insists. “Just let me go! Leave me alone!”

I
wrap both arms around him to keep him from running loose, and I lift him from
the ground as if he’s nothing but a mere toddler. He screams, but there is no
one around to hear him but the darkness, which does not care. My arms are
wrapped around his legs and he cannot kick. His arms are firmly pressed against
my torso and he cannot strike out. I can feel him trembling like a leaf in the
wind. Even in my firm grasp, the fool struggles, but it’s all in vain. When he
realizes that he cannot escape, he begins to cry. Alas, his façade of bravery
has been stripped away, revealing who he truly is! The foolish young man who
was so sure of himself in the night is now nothing more than a frightened
little boy, and I do not feel the least bit sorry for him. In fact, I am
greatly amused by his predicament.

Together,
the young man and I proceed into the darkness. He looks up at me with his desperate
eyes, still filled with tears, and says, “What are you going to do with me?”

“What
do you think I plan to do with you?” I inquire.

“I
don’t know,” he chokes out. “You’re kidnapping me.”

“Am
I, now?”

“Of
course you are.” I can feel him shudder.

I
don’t provide any further comment. One thing that the night has taught me is
that silence can easily play with one’s mind; the mind is forced to fill in the
blanks by itself without a voice or a sound to do so, and the mind cannot
always be trusted. We are both silent for the rest of the way to my home, and I
know that his mind is filling in the blanks.

In
the darkest area of the forest, where very little light reaches even in the
day, we reach the secluded little manor that I call home. I carry my guest
inside and gently set him down on the soft black couch. I am not worried that
he will flee, as I have effectively eliminated his hope of escape. He looks up
at me with the eyes of a frightened child. He is still trembling.

I
proceed to my piano, its white keys providing a subtle contrast to the rest of
my black world. I place my fingers on the keys. The dirge comes so naturally to
me that it’s as if it plays of its own accord. “Black is the color of the
painted darkness in the picture of the night,” I say over the sound of the
dirge. “It is the color of the unknown, that great beast so feared by all. It
is the color of uncertainty, of the cold fear that strikes you in every bone,
every muscle. It is the color of ebony coffins, mourning clothes, the hidden
journey of the dead into places unknown…”

“Why
tell me this?” the young man asks.

“But
alas, black is the color of the comfort of sleep,” I continue. “It is the color
of the feathers of the wise old raven; that clever bird knows that the painted
darkness can be a thing of beauty, while others may call it an eyesore. The
darkness cannot be good or bad. It cannot be your friend and it cannot be your
enemy. Like the raven, you can never be sure of its intentions.”

“What
are you saying?” the young man asks rather defensively. “Are you talking about
yourself? Are you talking about me?”

“I
speak of the night,” I elaborate, “and how beneath its painted blackness, it is
an entity of pure grey. It must be respected, for you never know its true
nature. It must be heeded, for you never know its motives. It cannot be tamed,
nor can it be reasoned with. But it can offer you safety and comfort just as it
can offer you peril and unease.” With that, my dirge ends and I shed a single
tear.

“I
understand now,” the young man says. “I get it. You’re telling me to be more
careful at night.”

There
is nothing more for me to say. One by one, I blow out the dim candles lined up
along the polished stone wall. In the meager light of the final candle, I can
see my guest’s eyes begin to fall. Enveloped by the uneasy darkness of a room,
he will feel warm blankets wrapped around him as he falls into the comforting
darkness of sleep. When he awakens, it will be light, and I will be gone.

Monday, April 6, 2015

In this great big world, there are
people who manage to be loved and wanted by just about everyone they know.
Alas, not everybody can be as fortunate as this, and those who are not can get
by just as well with being loved and wanted by a select and special few. It
takes a truly poor, unlucky soul to be made to manage in this world with nobody
at all to love and want them. I understand very well that though it is
thankfully rare, these kinds of unfortunate souls do exist. I was one of them.

Even
the toymaker’s apprentice knew that I would not be wanted. I was made as part
of a regiment of fifteen tall tin soldiers, all the same: clean uniforms of
stony grey, cedar colored hair trimmed to our ears, rounded caps, rifles at our
sides. The only differences were the number and order of medals pinned to our
lapels…and me, Avaline, the only woman in an army of fourteen men. “This one’s
a lady,” the toymaker’s apprentice said incredulously.

“Yes,
she is,” said the toymaker.

“Well,
these are soldiers,” said the apprentice, “soldiers for a war. There are no
ladies in war.”

“Well,
now there is one,” insisted the toymaker, “and her name is Avaline.”

But
the apprentice shook his head. “The boy won’t want her. He’ll only want the
men, and then you’ll have wasted all of that tin to make her. What will you do
with her then?”

“We’ll
see what he wants,” said the toymaker, and he patted my shoulder the way that a
father would. He did not see that I was holding back tears.

“The
boy” was the toymaker’s son. It was his birthday, and we were meant to be his
very best gift. We were polished until our tin gleamed like silver in the
light, and then we were instructed to march into the boy’s bedroom, where he
sat surrounded by all of the other toys he had received. When he saw us
marching in, a smile lit up his rosy face, and I was so delighted that I forget
about what the apprentice had said. I wanted to smile back, but I could not
while I was on duty. The boy looked over our stony faces, our clean uniforms,
the imposing rifles at our sides. “These are yours, Walter!” the toymaker said
cheerily. “Do you like them?’

“I
like all of them except for the girl,” the boy said. I nearly dropped my rifle
and fell to my knees! I thought I felt my tin heart sink straight down into my
stomach! I wondered if the men on all sides of me could feel that I was
trembling. The toymaker hid the disappointment in his voice. “Really? You don’t
want Avaline?”

“No,
just the men,” said Walter.

“Are
you sure you don’t want her?” the toymaker appealed. “She’s a major, you know.”

“I’m
sure,” insisted Walter. “I don’t want a girl major. So can I have the men?”

Don’t you cry, Avaline, I ordered
myself. You are a major in a respectable
army, not a weeping maiden. “All right, Walter,” said the toymaker with a
sigh. “You can have the men. I’ll keep Avaline. Come back here, Avaline.” I
didn’t want to move. To leave my post was to go against everything, but it was
an order from my superior. I took my place at the toymaker’s side, keeping my
head held high though it felt too heavy to do so. I remained stone-faced as
Walter led my men away, and they followed him dutifully without giving me even
a glance. The toymaker took me by the hand. “I’m awfully sorry, Avaline,” he
said. “I’m afraid that’s just the way that little boys are. But I won’t be
getting rid of you. I’m far too proud of you for that.” He gave my hand a
squeeze and led me back to his workshop. I was off duty now, and it was all
right to show my tears.

I
could have stayed with the toymaker forever. He treated me like a daughter, and
whenever I could I helped him around the workshop to repay his kindness. He
never made me feel as though I was not wanted, but at the same time he was
unable to make me feel as though I was. As much as he treated me like a part of
his family, I knew that I was really an outsider who didn’t belong anywhere. My
former army fought all of their battles without me and seemed to have forgotten
that I ever was a part of them. Walter had assigned a new man to take my place
as a major; the only indicators that I ever was a soldier were my uniform, my
military-issue rifle, and the medals pinned to my lapel. I did not feel like
myself anymore, and I had never gotten a chance to feel as though I truly
belonged. So that is why I decided to set out and find a place where I did
belong, provided that such a place existed. Late one evening, long after
everybody—the toymaker, his wife and son, his apprentice, and all of the other
toys—had retired to bed, I took a piece of paper and a pen from the toymaker’s
desk. I wrote:

Went out
into the world, as it is a soldier’s duty. Don’t worry about me, for I will be
all right. Thank you for everything. Avaline

I
quietly crept into the toymaker’s bedroom, where he slept peacefully beside his
pretty wife, who belonged to him and him to her. I set the note down on his
bedside table, and I just had to look at him for a few moments before I could
truly decide if I was willing to leave the man who had granted me life and
treated me so kindly. I did not want to lose the memory of his face—his bushy,
dark beard and his warm, lively eyes, his frizzy dark hair, his good-natured
smile. He had treated me with love that I knew the world may never show me. But
what good was love, I thought, if I did not truly belong? I kissed both of his
cheeks and departed from the room. With only my rifle, my medals, and the
uniform that bore the name I did not wish to forget, I stepped out into the
great big world.

I
longed to find anybody that I could belong to, but I never dreamed that I could
ever belong to somebody like Annabel. Who could have ever imagined that an old
wayward tin soldier could be loved by a woman with all of the beauty and
regality of a princess? In the morning, I look out the window and see her
reaching out to the sun in greeting, illuminated like a wild divinity of the
forest. She clasps her hands and twirls on her toes, flaring out her golden
hair and her silken gown. Her eyes catch me smiling at her, and she smiles
back. She rushes to the window and kisses my lips, and I know in my heart that
this is love. Something I had never gotten a chance to experience seems so real
and so effortless with her, and it’s astounding just how real a feeling that
I’ve never felt before can be. I know that I could never love anyone as I love
Annabel.

Annabel
had also been cast aside by a child who did not want her. The little girl had
requested a lovely china doll to be her friend; one with sea-green eyes, rosy
cheeks, long black hair, and a beautiful castle and garden for the two of them
to play in. Well, the dollmaker worked long and hard for many days and many
nights, but on the very last day of work she realized that she had no black
hair and no time to find any. She had hoped that the little girl would be happy
with long golden locks, but it was not to be. The little girl took one look at
Annabel and burst into angry tears, and her mother cursed and berated the poor dollmaker
for being unable to give her daughter what she had asked for. So Annabel was
left all alone in her lofty castle, with nobody at all to make her feel loved
and wanted.

I
loved Annabel the very moment I caught sight of her leaning her pretty golden head
out of one of the castle windows. But I wouldn’t have dared to speak to her. I
was an outcast tin soldier, wandering like a vagrant with no real purpose, and
she was on par with a princess. Surely, I was unworthy to even look her in the eye,
much less actually speak to her and ask if she would have me! I was frozen to
the spot, so overwhelmed by her beauty that I did not notice the first drop of
the first rain since my departure. By
the time I came out of my spell, it was too late to search for any sort of
decent shelter. I felt the cold water seeping into my joints. It slowed me
down, forcing me into a limp and then a pitiful crawl. Finally, brought down to
my hands and knees, I managed to drag myself under an old willow tree—the
closest thing to a shelter that I could possibly make it to at the moment. Of
course, it wasn’t enough. Every part of me was all locked up, and the rain
continued to pour upon me on all sides. Cold drops slipped off of the willow
leaves and seeped into my shoulders, my head, and my neck. I was done.

As
a rule, Annabel and I don’t like children. How can we? Our experiences with
them showed us that they are horrid, spoiled brats who only ever think of
themselves. But every rule has its exceptions; my life would have ended that
day, had it not been for two children. Their names were Laura and Hana, and
though they were both older than ungracious little Walter, I did not trust
them. It was Laura, the younger one, who found me all locked up beneath the
willow tree. She was a pleasant-looking child with a pretty face, but I still expected
her to laugh or kick me or throw rocks. I did not expect her to free me from my
rusted prison.

Laura
and Hana’s kindnesses reminded me of the toymaker. Together, the two of them
guided me until my body remembered how to move. Their careful, gentle attentions
brought warmth and health back to me, and I began to feel like a soldier again,
not an unfortunate pile of rusted tin. The two of them were good company, and
it wasn’t very long before I considered them my friends—the only friends I had
ever had since the toymaker. I forgot that they were children, and I forgot
that children were not to be trusted.

And so I
confided to my friends that I was in love with a beautiful china doll that
lived the life of a princess, in a world so far from and so above my own. I
confided to them that I could never love another as much as I loved her, and
that she was the only reason I even understood that a thing called love
existed. But I concluded by clarifying that there was no way that a beauty like
her would ever love an old outcast tin soldier, and by the time I had finished,
the assertion of this reality had driven me to very undignified tears.

Toys are
not able to speak to children in the way that children are able to speak to
eachother. So when Laura and Hana understood my plight, even in the very
limited ability I had to get it across to them, I knew that they were my
friends for sure. And in that moment, anything at all seemed to be possible, if
it was possible that someone like me could have true friends.

Thanks
to those two girls, Annabel and I learned so much more than just how to love
eachother. We learned that there are friends for us. We learned that the world
is not necessarily as cruel as it seems. Above all, we learned that we were not
meant to live in this world without the love of another. I realize now that
even those poor souls out there, still wandering the world with nobody to love
and want them, must have somebody out there who will someday learn to do just
that. They may not know it yet, but it is there.

This
world is a good one, filled with so many wonderful things. I think about my old
squad mates and I pity them; their life is a war, and battle is all that they
will ever know for the longest time. By now, the only indicators of my past as
a major are the markers on my uniform and the medals on my lapel. My squad
mates, who have forgotten that I ever existed, will only know the brutality of
fighting in pointless war after pointless war, led by a childish little tyrant.
But I know what it is to be more than a soldier. I know what it is to be a
knight to a beautiful princess, and I know what it is to love. If you ask me,
this is far more valuable than medals or titles could ever be.

About Me

I'm Star Nova, and I like to tell stories. This blog used to be more topical, but then just became a place where I could easily hold my stories. I have several short stories and two big works in progress, as well as some old crap and some pending revisions OF some old crap.
I write in order to share how I see the world, from my own perspective. If you're here, you're probably here from Tumblr or Twitter. I hope you like my stories. And if you don't, I hope you at least read them before you decide that. (: